Quotes About Hair

In her heart, the dark red of her wedding dress was the deep bloodied shade of mourning, heavy with lilies of the grave, and her hair was spiked with bleached bones. It must be Everna putting these thoughts in her head. She liked to talk about death, and seemed to find it more romantic than love.

Dressed in black, he reclined in the shell like a huge cat; his burnished hair a pale glory in the lady-light of the moon. The man was, or at least strongly resembled, my dream phantom, Beth Metatronim. He was holding Keea in his arms.

The prince's group had a teenage boy with them, a girlish creature, clearly a carnal toy. He was a pretty thing with long white blond hair and the eager, willing manner of a puppy. He smiled, laughed, pushed back his hair flirtatiously.

She looked enchanting, wearing a simple, long black dress, her hair held back with a silky scarf. She had painted her lips with a smudge of pale lipstick and her lashes were spiky with mascara.

Guthrie handed him the mug, a wee pout pulling his pale face out of shape. With his semi-skimmed skin, faint ginger hair, and blond eyebrows he looked like a ghost that had been at the pies. "Milk, two sugars.

Where Insch was bald, Steel looked as if someone had sellotaped a Cairn terrier to her head. Rumour had it she was only forty-two, but she looked a lot older. Years of chain smoking had left her face looking like a holiday home for lines and wrinkles.

In Italy, I had an Afro, and a lot of the kids came up and felt my hair. It really was funny. I wish I had understood Italian.

Since femininity in all respects is a matter of containment, a woman whose hair exceeds the esthetic limits of her culture probably will employ some depilatory procedure to bring her body into line.

The animal-like aspect of body hair, to a very refined sensibility, and the fact that women under detention were denied their razors, undoubtedly led a pioneer criminologist of the nineteenth century named Cesare Lombroso to propose that the body type of the female offender was characteristically hirsute.

You would be amazed at the pompadour that I was rocking in the first job I had on the soap opera called 'Loving,' my first contract job.

I generally like to wear my hair down, preferably with soft curls. But when I'm having a bad hair day, I like to wear my hair in French braids or fishtail braids.

I remember reading the cruelest, most awful thing about my hair online. A person speculated about who I was as a person and even read into my personal life based solely off my hairstyle. He or she said I must be lazy because I have short hair. It was just devastating.

I love glamour and artificial beauty. I love the idea of artifice and dressing up and makeup and hair.

I love to have my hair down I love to have my hair full... there's something romantic about it.

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my lifefor our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul.

Oh my dear from a distant fantasy land! I love to be in your dreams as a fairy of love with wings of flowers and golden glowing flowing hair.

He was extremely thin, with shoulder-length white hair neatly combed beside a face so seamed and wrinkled, it hardly seemed real.

All right, keep your hair on,' said the old singer, taking his off and adjusting a curl. 'Have another drink'.

She lay all too aware of how frost stiffened her hair, furred her blankets.

Only God, my dear," wrote Yeats blithely, "Could love you for yourself alone/And not your yellow hair." This quote is meant as a bit of lighthearted verse. But it is an epic tragedy in three lines.

They wept no animal's tears. They mourned in a great wickerwork of hard muscle and ragged breath. The hot smell of their coats, their black lips pulled back over ivory teeth, stiff sprays of white whiskers; their heavy hair plaited with silver and faience. Their thick hides shivered, as cattle will shiver away flies. I sweated and tried not to clear my throat.

If retirement requires a certain degree of peace of mind and an easy conscience, Victor Florian did not appear to have much of either. He held an unlit cigar in his mouth and had more hair in each eyebrow that most people have on their head.

was an emaciated character, pomade shining on moustache and hair, who oozed that belligerent apathy of those who turn their job into a platform for obstructing the lives of others.

Violet had a foolish, doll-like face and primrose colored hair in lifeless curls pinned all over her head like synthetic sausages. She opened her tiny wet mouth like a sea anemone and spoke.